“Reality is a question of perspective.”
–Salman Rushdie 

EDITOR’S NOTE: This post is a collaborative effort by Roc Wieler and Mynxee. While the general post is the same on both blogs, there are very distinct differences, as the story is told from each of their perspectives.

 

EVATI
THE HUB BAR & GRILL

It was the typical wind-down after an op. The fleet had been debriefed, the ships berthed for repairs. The mission hadn’t gone well, but it hadn’t been a total disaster, either. Jedziah had laid out clearly for the pilots where they could’ve improved, where they did well, and where they would go from here. After such a trying day, there was only one thing left for the Bastards to do: blow off some steam and relax in their favorite station pub.

Several hours later, the time-tested therapy of boozing, gambling, and general cavorting had lifted their spirits considerably. This had made for lively action at the poker table where a few of them still sat playing Hold’em.

“You are seriously such a call bitch.” Mynxee said to Roc Wieler, as he pushed 20 million in chips to the center of the table in response to her check raise. They had been at it for hours. “She has staying power, I’ll give her that.” Roc thought to himself. By now, most of the Bastards had either given up or busted out. By now, most of Roc’s chips were sitting in Mynxee’s considerable stack.

“Roc, man, seriously, walk away. You’re just pissing away your stack.” Mr. Frog said. Wisely, he was watching, not playing.

“He just wants to give all of it to me,” Mynxee declared, slurring only slightly despite how much she’d been drinking. 

How can a woman who drinks like a man and swears like a man be so damn sexy? Roc pondered to himself, watching the dreadlocked redhead for tells. In a taunting voice, Roc asked, “Sure you could handle all of it, babe?”

“Oh, darlin’, you bet your sweet ass I can take everything you can give. Question is, can YOU?” With that, Mynxee pushed all in and smirked at Roc. Venom Orchid folded and chuckled as she took another sip of her drink. Hallan Turrek folded and shook his head.

Roc sighed. Since they had started playing, he’d lost nearly 150 million ISK at this table. In fact, most of his chips now sat in a tidy stack on Mynxee’s side of the table. Quite a few more sat in front of Venom Orchid—a Hellcat Roc had never met her before, but a clear fit for the band of female pirates: beautiful, talented, and bitchy as they came. Yet, he still felt compelled to continue to call, to raise, to go all in. “Spread ‘em, babe. It’s time to feel all this man has to give.” With that, Roc shoved his remaining 50 million chips in and showed his hand:  Snowmen. With the 8JJ on the board, he had a full house–eights full of Jacks. 

“Too rich for my blood. I’ll be back when you two come to your senses.” Hallan Turrek announced. He rose to his feet and ambled toward the washroom. At almost the same moment from across the room, Flashfresh rose from the intimate conversation he was having with Shae Tiann, and also headed toward the men’s room.

Venom folded with a roll of her eyes. Mynxee smiled sweetly. Slowly, teasingly, she laid down her hand. Hooks it was, giving her four Jacks. A loud cry went up from everyone at the table.

“Little rough with that hand.” Roc belched, the waves of alcohol rolling off his breath like a beer tsunami. He shoved himself forcefully away from the table, his chair sliding noisily along the floor, then stood and marched unsteadily to the men’s room. 

Mynxee called out, “What’s the matter, handsome? I thought you’d have more stamina.” This elicited laughter from Bastards and Hellcats alike.

Roc arrived at the men’s room door just ahead of Flashfresh. Being the gentleman he was, Roc held the door open for him. Flashfresh slowed to look down his nose at the shorter man before him, the man who had been disrupting their lives to such a degree of late. Roc stood perfectly still, a feral smile on his face, almost daring Flashfresh to do something. You could almost feel the testosterone saturate the close space between these two quintessential Brutor males. Then Flashfresh rolled his eyes, gave a derisive snort and preceded Roc into the restroom. 

As the three men stood against the wall urinals attending to their personal needs, there was no conversation. Each silently kept their eyes on the wall immediately in front of them. There were certain unspoken rules between men–rules learned at a very young age if you wanted to live to see an old age. 

Hallan was a funny guy–always quick with a joke, always quick to be there when needed. He was notorious for already being in warp by the time the FC said “Warp”…something his corpmates teased him about daily. Hallan embraced this personal credo of speed with relish and had turned the qualities for which he was often teased into a perverse badge of honour. True to form, he was the first to finish, zip up, and amble over to the wash basin. He turned the water on full blast, briefly rinsed his hands, then quickly yanked several paper towels from the dispenser to dry them. He declared triumphantly, “Hallan Turrek is fast.”

Flashfresh was a successful solo pirate. Everyone worth their salt knew that. He dispatched targets with ruthless efficiency. That efficiency, it seemed, extended to other more mundane acts. He zipped up, then washed up using almost no water, drying his hands with a single paper towel.

“Flashfresh is quick AND efficient!” he leered towards Hallan, who stood there grinning like a drunken idiot. Hallan had been one-upped and they both knew it.

Roc Wieler shook his head, chuckling to himself. He took his sweet time finishing his business, zipping up slowly, and walked out the door without a single glance at the wash basin. Hallan and Flashfresh looked at each other quizzically as Roc stopped, leaned through the door, and craned his neck to look directly at the other two men.

“Roc Wieler doesn’t piss on his hands.” 

With that, he walked back into the bar, leaving the other two men embarassed and angered.

Roc just wanted to sit. He was feeling lousy. He was very drunk, out 200 million isk, and still in a foul mood from his earlier introspections. The Hub was packed; standing room only. He saw a low ranking Minmatar militia member sitting at a table, and decided he would commandeer the table.

— 30 seconds later —

Smoothly, Mynxee slid up next to Roc and took his arm, turning him toward her.

“Hey darlin’” she said in her most silken voice. He put an arm around her, trying to focus on her face.

“This jerk…” he mumbled angrily.

“I know, I know…let’s get out of here to talk about it, okay?” Mynxee purred, gently directing him away from the table. Fortunately, he offered no resistance, content to ramble incoherently at her. Meanwhile, Venom was sitting on the stranger’s lap, having gotten his full attention with a luscious and totally unexpected kiss. 

Roc continued to rail as she edged him toward the door, his arm draped around her shoulder, his weight leaning heavily against her. With a sigh, she began steering him in the direction of her own quarters.